


Animus Nocendi

by hermitized



Series: Quantum Meruit [1]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Beating, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Serious Injuries, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 05:43:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5278886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermitized/pseuds/hermitized
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor's life is thrown of the rails when he is robbed and beaten by three men. Of course, the case is never as simple as it first appears... (Diverges from canon early/mid Season 2)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Acceleration Clause

Bonnie is sick of this.

She’s tried to learn to deal with the constant interruptions, the constant phone calls, the constant knocking. It’s the law office life. She’s choosing to work here, if she wanted quiet she could go home, she could. 

First, of course, it had been Sam’s girls. Then Frank’s kids, then just Annalise’s interns in general.It’s a meat grinder, they make no apologies about that. And this year, somehow, was even worse than usual.

Still, for once, she’d found her zone. She was reading, taking notes, synthesizing a good argument out of all this mess. Forgot that she was pretty sure Annalise had killed Sam, or one of the kids had. Pretending that that she’s not thinking about. 

And then, there it is. That sharp frantic knocking. She tries to ignore it, tries to pretend it’s next door, the wind, some punk kid, but it’s never the wind. It’s never a punk kid.

Finishing her sentence, marking her place, Bonnie stands up, and heads for the door.

She peaks through the peephole, lets out a long sigh, and opens the door. “Connor?”

“Hi.” He’s standing there, clothes rumpled, jacket held to his chest. Bonnie blinks, and realizes his face is covered in blood. “Can I come in? Just for a second. I know you’re working.”

“What happened to you?” She steps back, letting him. He stumbles into the entryway, and she close the door. “Connor, what happened to you?”

“Everything’s fine.” His eyes are far away, a distant smile on his face. “That’s the line now, right? Everything’s fine?”

Bonnie takes his arm. “Let’s sit down, okay?” As she leads him to the couch, she turns over her shoulder. “Frank? Annalise? Frank!”

Connor’s knees buckle. Bonnie hisses, pulls his arm over her shoulders, and carries him to the couch. Frank appears in the entryway. “What now?”

“Get over here.” She settles Connor down on the sofa, keeping her hand on his wrist. His pulse flutters against her fingers. “Connor? What happened?”

“Was gonna happen eventually.” He laughs bitterly. “Didn’t figure it’d be me. Figured I’d be the consoling boyfriend. Distressed bystander, maybe. Not the one getting beat”

Of all the ironies, Connor showing up bloody on the Keating doorstep has nothing to do with what Bonnie might suspect may or may not have happened with Sam. It’s random chance. Could have happened anyway.”

Frank approaches, head tilted. “Jesus, kid…” It’s never good, when Frank’s jaw takes on that stern line. “What’s the call?”

“911,” Bonnie says.

Connor’s eyes go wide, he shrinks back against the couch. “No. no I’m all right. I just need to catch my breath and I’ll head home.” He’s pleading. It’s so, so sad. “Don’t call them.”

Bonnie looks at Frank. Frank gets his phone out of his pocket. “Warm and calm, Bonnie. Warm and calm.”

“I know what to do,” she snaps, and she does, she thinks she does. She gets a blanket and wraps it around Connor’s shoulders. Frank disappears into the kitchen. “What happened?” she asks again.

“Mugging mostly, I think. Maybe. Wallet and phone, and watch. Saw me coming out of the bar. Didn’t do anything, or leave with anybody but...they’d know the place. Not a secret.” He winces, clutches his head. “Don’t know how I got here, exactly. No car. Just...picked a direction and walked.”

She squeezes his hand. “Don’t go anywhere. Frank is right in the other room. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Annalise is looking at her when she walks in, hands folded. “What happened?”

“Mr.Walsh just showed up here, covered in blood.”

Her boss is on her feet before Bonnie has even finished speaking, heading out into the living room. Connor is standing, in the middle of the room, looking lost and scared, like he’d started to bolt, but lost track of where on earth he’d been going. Bonnie races to his side. “Connor, sit down, please.”

“I’m all right.” He looks up, sees Annalise, snaps to a straightened position. “Professor Keating. I’m sorry. I’ll get out of your way, I just…”

His eyes drift to the side, his knees buckle again. Bonnie grabs his torso, hauls him upright, lowers him to the couch. Annalise crosses to him, takes his hands. “You’re not troubling me, Mr. Walsh. Wait here, we’ll get you safe.”

Frank comes out of the kitchen. “Police are on the way.”

Annalise nods. “Ambulance?”

“Told them he was all cut up and bloody. Should be sending some EMTs.”

Connor lets out a sob. “I just want to go home.”

“Frank, get me a clean towel, some water.” She doesn’t look at him to allow any sarcasm or backtalk. She sits down next to Connor, keeping his hand clutched in hers. “Bonnie, keep an eye out for those cops.”

Collapsing against her shoulder, Connor says again, “I just want to go home.”

“I know, I know.” She squeezes his fingers. “But we gotta get this on the record, all right? Make sure your brain isn’t swelling. Okay?” When he doesn’t answer, she bumps his shoulder. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

Frank brings towels, wet and dry. Annalise takes one, presses it to the deep gouge on Connor’s head. Frank asks, “Are you in pain anywhere else, kid?”

“I…” He pauses tilts his head, flinches and nods. “God, yeah. My side. Chest. God. Right here.” He spreads his fingers out of his lower left rib cage. Frank reaches out and puts some pressure where he indicated. Connor cries out. He looks up at Annalise, eyes welling with tears. “Am I gonna die?”

“You’ll be fine,” Frank says, but he gives Annalise a look.

She gently presses Connor’s shoulders. “You’re not gonna die, Mr. Walsh. I promise.”

The high pitched scream of sirens slices through the night. Bonnie peaks out the window, then heads out onto the front steps, waving her hand.

The paramedics come first, then two cops. Bonnie leads the medics to the living room. One of them, a woman with dark red hair in a ponytail asks, “What happened?”

Connor stares through her, eyes unfocused on the wall. Nothing. Annalise says. “He was beaten. I don’t know what happened, he just showed up out of nowhere, but he seems very confused.”

The paramedics examine Connor, talking to him softly. Bonnie is talking to the officer, probably telling them about Connor coming to the door. Frank is on his phone, texting, taking pictures maybe.

Ponytail paramedic talks to Connor for a little while, sighs, then addresses Annalise. “He should get to the hospital, as soon as possible. He needs X-Rays, and a CT scan. He has a concussion, possibly a busted rib, and if left untreated it could puncture a lung.”

Annalise looks at Connor. His eyes are darting around, he’s shaking, not responding to questions. “I’ll take him.” She looks up to see the paramedic giving her a look. “I know it’s against your recommendation. To be frank, I’d rather you took him too. But I don’t think he’s going to tolerate being transported by strangers very well. If he’s not immediately dying, I’ll take him.”

The paramedic has Connor, then her, sign some forms. “Released against medical advice.” She knows what they say, but she reads them carefully anyway before inking her name onto them. Then the police take over as the paramedic knits the cut on his head together with butterfly bandages. All the adults gather around to listen.

Connor looks up at Annalise, plaintive. Annalise turns to Bonnie, who picks a glass of water up off the table and passes it to her. She gives it to Connor, who take a shaky sip.

He looks up at the cops. There's Officer Liu, an old neighborhood friend of Frank’s, and Officer Quintana, one of Bonnie’s. Quintana has the notebook, Liu has the smile. “You can talk to us, Mr. Walsh. We're here to help.”

Connor looks up at Annalise, who squeezes his hand and nods. He takes a deep breath, and begins.

“I was coming out of L’Orpheum” (a known gay bar) “About midnight. Went in alone, came out alone.” He flashes a painful version of That Smile. “I just needed a break, you know the drill.”

They all certainly do.

“How many?”

“Drinks or assailants?”

“That’s a big word.”

“I am a 1L, after all.”

Liu laughs. Quintana smiles, looks down at her notebook. “For the sake of completeness, let’s say both.”

“Had two drinks, one right before I left. Third shot might have slipped in there somewhere, it happens. I think three guys, Four, maybe?” His brow furrows. “I’m sorry, I can’t remember.”

“It’s all right, keep going.”

“They boxed me in. Trapped me up in the alley against the wall. I gave them my phone and my wallet. I made a mistake, I...I hesitated when they asked for my watch, so they threw me on the ground and took it.”

He stares straight ahead, eyes locked on the wall. Annalise squeezes his shoulder. Connor says, “They kicked me a few times. One of them had a length of pipe, maybe, or a broom, or a jack. Something hard. They left when I started screaming.”

Connor’s crying now, tears edging his eyes. Bonnie doesn’t let herself feel close to the students, not anymore, almost not ever, but in that moment she wants to give Connor a hug, to squeeze his hand, to tell him everything’s going to be all right.

Liu looks at Quintana, and Quintana looks at Liu, then Liu turns back to Connor and says, “Thank you for talking to us, Mr. Walsh. You’ve been very helpful and, may I say, incredibly articulate.”

“Thank you.” Connor’s eyes are on the floor as he mumbles.

The officer looks from Connor to Annalise. “We’ll be in touch.”

“Thank you, Officer Liu. Officer Quintana. You’ve been most helpful.” Annalise rises to shake each of their hands. Frank goes to Liu, leaning on the doorframe to talk to her.

Bonnie, of course, goes to Quintana. “Odd night to catch you out here.”

“Funny story. I’m not even supposed to be. But luck is luck, and I caught your text, and then just a second later the radio call.” She looks over her shoulder at Connor, sympathetic. “Make sure you all keep a very close watch on the kid, he has a long day and night ahead of him.”

“I know, we will. Thank you.”

And then, the cops are gone, and it’s just Annalise, the associates, and a badly bleeding Connor. Annalise whips her head to him and says, “I don’t suppose you have that boyfriend of your’s phone number memorized?”

“N...n-no.”

“Kids these days. Frank?”

“I got it. You want to talk to him?”

Annalise looks over at her. “Bonnie, if you would please?”

Bonnie takes the ringing phone from Frank’s outstretched hand. Annalise squeezes Connor’s shoulder, hard, then runs upstairs. Frank paces to the window. Bonnie places the phone to ear. She hears a man’s voice. “Oliver Hampton?”

“Yeah. Who is this?

“My name is Bonnie Winterbottom. I work for….”

“Professor Annalise Keating.”

“That’s correct.”

She hears his gasp on the other end of the phone, his fear tinny in her ear. She hates it. “Connor. Is he all right? Did he use again?”

Use…

“Connor is fine,” Bonnie says. “He’s fine. But you need to come pick him up. Maybe, take him to the doctor.”

“Okay. Okay. You’re at the law office? I’ll be right there.” Just before he hangs up, he shouts, “Thank you!.”

Bonnie lets out a breath. She hands the phone back to Frank, looks up at Annalise who’s rushing back down the stairs. “He’s on his way. Oliver.”

“Good. That’s good.” She sits down on the couch, swaddles Connor in the blanket she’d had folded up in her arms. “You hear that? Oliver’s coming.”

“Ollie…”

“Ollie, that’s right.” She tucks her arms around his shoulders again. “Oliver always takes care of you, doesn’t he?”

“He tries. He really, really tries.”

Annalise looks up. “You two are dismissed, if you want to go. Get some rest. Start fresh in the morning.”

Frank is out the door in a heartbeat. Bonnie moves a little slower, pausing, hand on handle. “I’ll ask one of your study group to take notes for you. Miss Castillo? Or perhaps Mr. Gibbins?”

“Whoever. Anyone is fine.”

She has to swallow down a smirk, looks up at Annalise. “Is that all right?”

“All right. But only for as long as you, is that understood Mr. Walsh? I won’t tolerate any undo excuses.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It could be worse, Bonnie reflects, as she leaves the house that night. At least Connor had had somewhere to stumble to, when things had been the darkest.

Not all of them got so lucky.


	2. Guardian Ad Litem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's important to have someone who'll come running for you when you really need them. Annalise knows that as well as anyone

Oliver shows up in a rush, shoes untied, coat unbuttoned. Annalise is glad at least one of these kids has found someone who’ll run to their side in the middle of the night. One who’s not on the Keating books anyway. She shouts, “Come in!” when she hears his soft rap on the door.

He enters like someone setting foot in a place they don’t belong. She knows that look. She’s known that feeling all her life. “Come in!” she says again.

“Is Connor here?”

“We’re in the study. The living room. Whatever you call it, turn left from the door.”

Good kid can follow directions. He turns. He sees them. God help her, she thinks she sees a lip wobble. “Connor…”

“He’s all right,” she tries to assure him as he rushes to his side. “He’s not in life-threatening danger, but…”

“We need to get him to the hospital,” Oliver says. “He needs X-Rays, a CAT scan, maybe an MRI. Are you in pain?”

“Yeah. A lot. Ollie…” His eyes are full of tears.

“What happened?” Oliver looks from Connor to Annalise. “Was it drugs? Were you out drinking?”

Connor hangs his head. “I wasn’t. I promise, I wasn’t.” Now he’s looking at her. How is it, that this always seems to happen?

Annalise lets out a long sigh. “He’s been good, Oliver. He was really good. He had a few drinks at the bar, he was coming home to meet you, he was…”

“I was mugged, Ollie. I got mugged, okay?”

The silence hangs in the air. People like her and Connor...well, they like that silence, don’t they? It’s a moment, where they can grab all their thoughts, all their plans, and pull them back close to their chests.

“Oh my god.” Oliver grabs his hand. “They beat you? What did they take?”

“Everything. And yeah.” Connor presses against his shoulder. “Can we go home, please?”

Oliver looks up at Annalise. “I think we need to go to the hospital.”

Connor lets out the saddest moan of pain. Oliver is still looking at her, and he looks like he’s about to burst into tears. Annalise leans close to him. “Get to the hospital, Connor. They’ll give you some scans, give you a clean bill of health, you’ll be out in a few hours.”

It’s a lie, it’s a horrible lie, but Connor nods and says, “All right, all right.”

Oliver puts him in the passenger seat, wraps him in Annalise’s blanket. She can’t help but watch him. He’s so tender, so careful. When he shuts the door, she takes him aside and pulls him into a tight hug. “It’s going to be okay, Ollie. He’s gonna be okay.” She eases back, keeps her hands on his shoulders, looks him dead in the eye. “You are going to be okay, you understand?”

“I do. I do understand.”

He grips her hands. She squeezes his fingers. He gets in the driver’s seat. She leans in the window. “Take a deep breath, Oliver. Long in, long out. Drive safe.”

He does what she says. Long inhale. Long exhale. A steady cycle. “I’ll be careful,” he says. He means it. “Thank you, Professor Keating. Thank you.”

“Call me the moment you know anything. The moment you need anything.”

Oliver says, “Thank you,” again. Connor lifts his head, blinks, and says, “I’ll get the essay in. I will.”

“I’m counting on it, Mr. Walsh.”

She can’t help but smile. They’re horrible moments, she hates that they happen, but she can’t hate them. Not when she gets to see such beautiful things out of her students.

Annalise is proud of Connor. A boy who can keep a friend like that can’t be all bad, that she knows for damn sure.


	3. Shield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the hospital, Ollie brings Connor back to earth.

Oliver thinks he can see the moment, when Connor starts to come back to him. Sometime after the first set of X-Rays, but before the MRI and second dose of pain meds. Connor opens his eyes, looks around and says, “Hospitals are a sick experiment.”

He’d been so quiet, so withdrawn these last few hours, that Oliver almost cries. “You think so, huh?”

“Well, you’d think they’d want sick and traumatized people to sleep”

“It’s daytime. Work time. Not time to sleep.”

“Well, I think it’s cruel.” Connor turns his head and closes his eyes.

Oliver takes his hand and squeezes it. “Ask the nurse when she comes in.”

Connor does start chatting with the nurse, tired smile and weak sarcasm. And then, about fifteen minutes later, the lights across the ward do dim about thirty percent. He falls asleep leaning on Oliver’s arm.

The nurses and aides come to wake him up to take him to the MRI. Oliver goes out in the waiting room, and gets on his phone. Connor’s sister Gemma is still an hour out. He texts Annalise, [In the MRI. Things are okay.]

She texts him right back. [What are his injuries?]

[So far: three broken ribs, broken wrist, collarbone, very very thin fracture of the jaw.]

[Thank your, Oliver. Stay strong. You’re doing a good job.]

Is he doing a good job?

When he looks out the window he realizes, almost absurdly, that the sun must have been up for hours now.

Oliver heads back inside, gets a coffee, drinks it standing tucked into the corner of the cafeteria. He buys two packages of candy, shoves them into his pockets, and heads upstairs.

Connor’s bed is back where it belongs. Oliver pulls up his chair. “Gemma’s forty-five minutes out.”

He closes his eyes, and nods. Oliver reaches out and squeezes his hand. “Professor Keating is worried about you.”

“She is?”

“She totally is.”

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he passes it to Connor. Connor reads the texts, a smile comes to his face. “Aww.”

“Yeah, aww.” Oliver takes his phone back. He looks down at his hand. “You’re really lucky, you know that, right?”

“Am I?”

“You are! Man, I would kill to have a mentor like yours for systems admin and server architecture.”

Later, the thing Oliver just can’t quite figure out, is why Connor suddenly looks really, really sad right after he says that.


	4. Conspiratorship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When trouble comes, the wolf pack circles up, and looks out for their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings: some fairly explicit mentions of surgery.

Laurel brings Connor his notes for Crim and Con Law (thank you, Bonnie). She tells him that Asher’s getting his notes for Civ Pro, Michaela Property, and Wes is getting Contracts.

“Thanks,” Connor says, pulling the notebooks towards his chest.

“I hope you can read them.”

“I’m sure I can.” He looks down. “Are they all going to parade through to pay their respects?”

“I’ll collect the notes and bring them, if you’d like. Or I could ask them to give them all to Wes.”

Connor closes his eyes. “We’ll see. Thank you, again.”

“Thank you,” Oliver says.

“Sure. I know Susan Coliver records the lectures for civ pro and property, you could ask her for those.”

“Did you bring any pens?” He tilts his head at her. “I can’t write with these cheap ones.”

“I’ll ask Wes to bring some. Highlighters too?”, 

“Please.”

Laurel wishes she wasn’t so proud of herself, that she got all the way to the hallway, and very nearly outside, before her lip started to tremble.

#

They all cluster around her when she shows back up, but Michaela speaks first. “How’s he’s doing?”

“Fine, I think.” Laurel sits down on the couch. “They’re gonna put a plate in his chest, and screws in his wrist.”

“Wow.” Michaela sits down at the desk.

Wes sits down next to Laurel. “How’s his head?”

She looks over at him, blinks, rubs her eyes. “He seems really tired. The images hadn’t been processed yet when I was there.”

“Mmm.”

Laurel looks up, to see Frank leaning on the doorway looking at them, and Bonnie at her desk, pretending not to be listening to them. “Aren’t we working?”

Bonnie looks at Frank. Frank looks at Annalise’s office door, and shrugs. Bonnie says, “We’re taking a day off.”

“We are?”

“A very, very short day off.” She puts on her reading glasses. “Don’t you all have class?”

Asher and Michaela pass their notes to Laurel, who gives them to Wes. Then, she goes up to Bonnie. “Excuse me?”

“What is it?”

Laurel knits her hands together, lifts her chin. “Could I take a couple pens?”

Bonnie pauses, looks up. “What?”

“Could I take a couple of your pens? For Connor? He hates the ones at the hospital. I’ll bring them back.”

“Sure you will.” Bonnie sighs, opens up her desk drawer, pulls three pens out of a plastic container. They’re shiny in the light. heavy in the palm of her hand. “Do try not to lose these.”

“I’ll take care of them. I promise.”

She gives two to Wes, one for Connor now, and one for Connor later. She keeps one for herself, stashed in a back pocket of her bag. “He wanted highlighters too. And I think maybe he could use some post-it notes?”

“I have some.” He smiles. “I can’t believe he still wants to study.”

Laurel can’t help it. She tilts her head at him. “Wouldn’t you?”

Of course he would. They both would. They all would.

“Wish him luck for me, “Laurel says.

“Sure thing.”

#

He slips into the room like a shadow. He’s good like that. He drops the bag full of pens and notes off in the corner.

Oliver looks up, nods to him, and waves him over. Wes feels like he doesn’t belong, right up until Oliver gives him a tight hug and thanks him.

Gemma is holding her brother’s hand, they’re talking in hushed voices. They both look up, and Gemma waves to him. “Wes, right?”

“Right. Gemma?”

“That’s me.”

She looks back to Connor, then up at Oliver. “Sorry, but I’m starving. I’ve been travelling all day.”

“Go eat, please.” Connor looks up at Oliver, takes his hand. “You too, you haven’t eaten all day.”

Oliver’s mouth twists, pain and hesitation. Connor presses his arm. “Just because I have surgery tomorrow doesn’t mean I don’t have to study. Please go.”

“All right.” He squeezes Connor’s hand, kisses his temple, then looks up at Wes. “ Don’t be too hard him.”

Wes smirks. “If anything, you’re going to have to come in to rescue me from him.”

“All lies.”

After it’s been quiet for awhile, Connor says, “I’m gonna fail all my classes.”

“You’re not going to fail, Connor.”

“I’ll probably have to withdraw. I’m sure I can come back next semester. Maybe I’ll get credit for what I’ve already done…”

“Just talk to your professors. They don’t want you to have to drop out.” He drags up a chair next to the bed. “Professor Keating doesn’t want you to drop out.”

Connor closes his eyes, and presses the button for pain meds. “If you say so.”

“You’ll see. I promise, you’ll see.” Wes tilts his head at him. “So, surgery huh?”

“Seven A.M. tomorrow. Lucky me.”

“What are they doing, exactly? Laurel said...”

“Putting in a bunch of screws and rods and plates to hold the jagged bone edges that won’t stay together together.” He swallows. “Kinda wish they could do that surgery on my whole life.”

Wes laughs. He doesn’t mean to, he just can’t help it. “Is that all?”

Connor closes his eyes. “There’s something like...a bruise or something on my liver and one of my kidneys. The surgeon’s gonna take a look, make sure it isn’t bleeding, make sure it’s just a bruise.”

“I’m sure you’re all right,” Wes says.

“I’m sure.”

He walks him through the contracts lesson, doesn’t blame him when his eyes start to roll back into his head. After a while, Connor asks, “Do you think you could go over some of this stuff with Oliver? Just a little bit. I’ve been trying to walk Ollie through it, but I’m a bad teacher, and this contract stuff can be really useful for…” He shrugs. “Normal people or something.”

“Of course,” Wes says.

“I’m probably going to need more help with the notes. Tomorrow at the very least. Possibly…” He frowns at the pen in his hand. “Is this Bonnie’s?”

“Thank Laurel.”

“I certainly will. Bonnie too.” He lets out a ragged breath. “But, about the notes…”

“It’s okay, Connor, I don’t mind. I’ll take notes as long as you need, I’m already doing one set anyway.”

Connor looks like he might break down right then, so Wes says, “You know what Asher said, when he found out?”

“What did Asher say?”

“He said, when they find out who did this, just say the word and he’ll help you sue them, or help you beat them up too.” He can still see they way Asher lifted his chin, his noble bearing, the way he screwed up his little fists.

At least, at the very least, Connor laughs. “That’s really sweet.” 

“Would you do it? Press charges, I mean. Or sue them.”

“I don’t know.” Connor closes his eyes. “Right now, I just want all of this to be over.”

Wes is spared from having to come up with anything else to say by the sounds of footsteps. Oliver and Gemma are back.

Gemma chats with them for a little bit, then goes outside to call their mom. Wes does Contracts 101 with Oliver and Connor. Then, when Connor falls asleep, Wes shows Oliver all the notes and study guides his friends took, walks as best he can through the case summaries, and shows him where everything is.

When he goes to leave, Oliver hugs him again, really hard. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“It’s nothing,” Wes says. “If you need anything, anything at all, we’re all here for you.”

They both look at Connor, on the bed, eyes closed. Not moving. Then, he jerks in sleep, cries out in pain, and Oliver goes to his side, takes his hand, talks to him soothingly.

Wes is pretty sure he’s never felt so small.


	5. Confession and Avoidance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor goes into surgery. Michaela has a realization

“Here's what's going to happen,” Professor Keating says when they all get in. “Exactly one of you can have your phone out on the table, to get updates on Mr. Walsh. The rest of you, put them away, we're still working here”

They all look at each other. Then, Laurel says, “I’ll ask Oliver to text me updates.”

“Thank you.” She looks around the room. “Now, do any of you feel comfortable presenting Mr. Walsh’s work?”

Michaela takes a deep breath, lifts her chin. “I am.”

Connor had walked her through it that night, before they all left. She takes Professor Keating and the team through it the same way he showed her.

“It’s very basic,” she says. “I’m sure he can explain it better.”

Professor Keating just keeps looking over the folder, nodding. “I understand it perfectly. Thank you, Ms. Pratt.” She turns to Bonnie, and Michaela hears her say, “This is really excellent, follow up on this,” and her cheeks flush, both relieved that she did Connor’s work justice, and also slightly annoyed, because it wasn't even her own work she was presenting.

Today’s opposition research day. They're combing through the case, each taking some witnesses and pieces of evidence, and trying to generate whatever argument or point the prosecution could possibly generate from that.

Bonnie comes up to Michaela. “Connor was working on the testimony of the aunts and sisters. Can you take it?”

“Of course.”

She lays it on her workspace, next to her blood spatter evidence, and the clothes the defendant had been wearing when she was picked up. 

Bonnie says, “We'll be leaning on you all a lot to pick up the slack, but I'm particularly going to be looking at you to pick up a lot of what he was doing. Can you handle that?”

She doesn't even have to think about it really. “I can, yes.”

The corner of Bonnie’s mouth quirks. “Good.”

Laurel comes over, phone cupped in her hands. “Oliver thinks he'll probably be in surgery for three or four hours.”

Poor guy. Michaela rubs her neck. “I wish I could have him talk me through this chain of custody mess again.”

“Me too.”

Three hours later, Wes is presenting on the defendant’s testimony, when Laurel’s phone screen lights up. She grabs it off the arm of the couch. Michaela tilts her head to try to read it, but the letters are too small.

Laurel sighs, and sets her phone down. She looks up, catches Michaela’s eye, realizes they're all watching her. “He’s still in surgery.”

Bonnie and Annalise look at each other. Asher sinks back in his chair, deflated. Michaela feels herself do the same. She'd hoped....

Wes is hugging his notebook to his chest. “What I really think is the defendant shouldn't get on the stand at all.”

Michaela’s already shaking her head. “That'll just make her look guilty.”

“Her testimony can only hurt us right now.”

An hour and a half later, they've tabled that discussion, and Asher and Wes are going at it over Maryland v Simmons, when Michaela sees Laurel slide her phone off the table. She's trying for subtlety this time, but Michaela still catches her.

This time, the sigh she lets out is one of relief. She looks up, takes in the argument, then slides over to Michaela. “He's out of surgery. He's sleeping it off in post-op recovery, but the signs look good.”

Michaela closes her eyes. “Of course he's fine. He just likes to be dramatic. He probably asked them to make his surgery extra long for the flair of it.”

She's glad Laurel laughs, because it means she can turn the empty feeling in her stomach into laughter, and not tears.

Professor Keating’s voice rings out. “Something you'd like to share, ladies?”

Michaela fixes her eyes on her notes. Laurel says, “Connor’s out of surgery. He's sleeping, but all signs look good.”

The tension goes out of the room like a snapped rubber band. Wes sits down, hands folded in his lap, suddenly shaking. Laurel goes and puts her hand on his shoulder. Asher is glancing around the room, like he's not sure what to do with his hands.

Michaela’s so relieved, she thinks she might throw up. That would certainly be counterproductive.

Bonnie is looking at Annalise. Annalise is looking at her hands. Bonnie reaches over and taps the back of her wrist. Annalise lifts her head, lets out a breath, and turns to them. “You're all useless to me right now. Get out of here, get something to eat, clear your heads. If you find some focus, come back. If not, seeya tomorrow.”

As they stand up and pack their bags, Annalise and Bonnie leave the room. Asher looks around and says, “It's lunch special at Boscos. Anyone up to grab a drink?”

It's too early, Michaela thinks, but doesn't say.

“I’m going to type up my notes, and then go to sleep,” Laurel says. She sounds like she means it.

Michaela wants to say the same, but then, something happens inside her. If she goes home, she might just fall apart. “I'll grab one, but then I need to transcribe too.”

They look at Wes, who lets out a big-dog sigh and says, “Why the hell not?”

“Godspeed,” Laurel says. “I'll catch you if I wake up sometime in the next century.”

Before they leave, Michaela thinks of something she wants to clarify with Bonnie, and excuses herself to go look for her.

She, Frank, and Annalise are talking quietly in the kitchen. Annalise is pouring herself a glass of vodka. Bonnie is saying, “He's out of the woods, Annalise.”

“It's only just beginning for him. The three of us know that better than anyone.”

Michaela sidles back out of earshot. Yeah, she could definitely use that drink.

#

Michaela gets straight vodka. Asher wouldn't have guessed that for her. She's trying to get some Annalise Keating vibe going probably. Wes gets a whiskey. Asher never suspected he’d go so hardcore, but he’s noticed the really skinny ones sometimes do. Sky's at the bar tonight, so Asher gets a dealer’s choice.

“How's things, Asher?” Sky asks.

“My friend's been hospitalized,” Asher tells him seriously. “He just got out of surgery.”

“Wow, sorry. What happened?”

“He got mugged, at a bar out on district. Not just mugged. Beaten. Targeted, maybe.”

“Oh, there's been a string of those. Warner Avenue last month, Armitage the other week. Maybe some mess out at the park back in August. I hope they catch those creeps.”

“Me too.” Asher takes the drinks. “Thanks, Sky. Keep my tab open tonight.”

“Sure thing, kid.”

Michaela takes a tentative sip of her vodka. “It's actually not half bad.” She takes another, longer drink. “It's very clear, just like, harsh water.”

Wes slugs back his whiskey like he does it every night. He probably does. Asher doesn't know why Wes has seemed so strung out and quiet these past few weeks. Maybe because that girl took off. Rebecca.

Or test stress. That's gotta be it. 

Michaela points at Asher’s drink. “Okay, what is that?”

“A dealer's choice.”

“But, what is it?”

Wes eyes it like it might bite him. “It smells really sweet.”

Asher takes a long sip, relishes the cold syrupy slide down his throat, the warmth as it hits his bloodstream. “It's drunk juice, is what it is. Try it.”

Michaela picks it up, with delicate fingertips. She takes a sip. Her eyes go wide. “That is good.”

She passes it to Wes, who gives it a test. After a swallow, he says, “Okay, I see why you like it.” He seems to shrink, folding his hands. “Connor would be proud.”

Asher’s glad he said something. He just can't stand it when there's that elephant on the room that no one can bring themselves to talk about. He takes another long sip of his drink. “I don't know if you heard, but Sky said there's been a whole string of these...beatings, muggings, whatever they are.”

“Sky.” Michaela lifts her eyes up to the bar, checks out the bartender, then looks back to Asher. “Really?”

“Really.” Asher leans forward, elbows on the table. Mother would not approve. “What do you think? Anti-gay group maybe? KKK?”

Wes and Michaela share some sort of look, then Wes says, “It’s probably just some drunk assholes. It’s football season. I bet stuff like this happens every year.”

Michaela downs her vodka, and points at Asher’s drink. “I want one of those.”

“I want another whiskey,” Wes says.

“Right on, my overstressed peers, right on.”

Maybe they’re laughing with him, maybe they’re laughing at him, but either way they’ll stick around, because he’s buying the drinks.

Against all odds, it’s an incredibly nice night, until something weird happens. Asher’s settled into some water (he does still have to read tonight) and he’s saying, “I kinda wish I could see Connor right now.”

Wes tilts his head at him. “What’d you mean?”

“He’s all loopy coming off the anesthesia. I’ll bet he’s saying all kinds of stuff. Talking shit on classmates, professors, confessing his love. Imagine that, cool, calm collected Connor, laying in his boy’s lap, just talking. That’s what we all need you know. Just to talk. Really communicate, you know?”  
,  
Abruptly, Michaela stands up. “Excuse me. Need to pee.”

“You all right?” Wes asks.

“Fine. Just drank a lot. Need to pee.”

When she’s gone, Wes finishes his vodka and turns to Asher. “I was gonna try to go see Connor tomorrow. I was wondering, maybe you could drive me? The girls too, if they’re up for it.”

“Of course man, of course. Never hesitate to ask if you need a ride, I’d be truly thrilled to help.”

Then, Michaela’s back, she picks up her purse, checks her phone. “Christ, I need to sleep this off and study. Asher, are you good to drive”

“Of course.” He finishes his water, stands up, picks up his jacket. “What about you, Wes?”

“I feel like a walk. Thanks though, I’ll hit you up tomorrow.”

“Sure thing.”

Michaela is very quiet in the car. When they pull up to the curb, Asher says, “Wes and I are gonna go visit Connor tomorrow. Do you want to come?”

“Yes.” She lifts her chin. “Yes, I would. Let me know where to meet you.”

“Will do. Good luck studying or whatever.”

“Thanks, Asher.” She gets out of the car, waves to him, and shuts the door kind of hard.

Asher drives home. He drinks a bottle of gatorade, and grinds out a second copy of his Civ Pro reading guide for Connor. When, he’s done with that, he sends out some texts to see who’s up to party, then does his reading while he waits for responses.

Tomorrow could be grim and sober. Tonight’s a night to have fun.


	6. Privileged Communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whispered discussions between close friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying a different style here, very interested to know how it plays!

_3:30 PM, Post-Surgical Care Ward_

“Oliver? Ollie?”

“I’m here. I’m right here.”

“Do you think there’s such a thing as an unforgivable sin?”

“What’s this about?”

“Do you think there’s anything a person can do that can’t be forgiven?”

“That’s a big question. I don’t know. They say you should be sleeping.”

“Can’t. I can’t sleep.”

“Okay, that’s okay. Just close your eyes, okay? What do you want to talk about? Good and evil, human nature?”

“Your hands are really warm.”

_5:00 PM_

“Ollie?”

“Yes, Connor?”

“My chest hurts.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Where’s Gemma?”

“She’s with your mom. She’s very upset.”

“Gemma? Or my mom?

“Your mom. Gemma’s handling it.”

“I’m sure she is.”

_5:30 PM_

“Ollie?”

“Connor.”

“When can I go home?”

“They haven’t told me. Soon, I hope.”

“My mom...wants me to come to her house. Gemma too. I don’t want to leave school. I want to be here, with you.”

“I know. Right now all you need to do is rest.”

“I need drugs.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

_6:00 PM_   
_Group Chat: Michaela, Wes, Laurel_

Michaela: what if he says something?  
Laurel: hello to you too  
Wes: what if who says something?  
Michaela: Connor.  
Michaela: While he’s all drugged up and anesthetized, what if he says something, about what happened?  
Wes: he won’t  
Laurel; that doesn’t really happen, right?  
Laurel: figured it only happens like that in the movies  
Michaela: people say crazy shit when they’re drunk and/or on drugs  
Michaela: and connor says crazy shit all the time  
Wes: You may have something like a point  
Wes: but there’s no reason to freak out  
Laurel: yeah  
Laurel: even if he did, it would prob be too cryptic to intrepret  
Laurel: nothing anyone could prove  
Michaela: jesus  
Wes: it’s fine, ‘chaela.  
Laurel: it’s fine, don’t worry  
MIchaela: i need another drink  
Laurel: did you finish your notes?  
Michaela: bring me some vodka and we’ll see where the night goes

_6:30 PM_

“You never answered the question.”

“What question?”

“Do unforgivable crimes exist?”

“Serial killers?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. Some people don’t intend to do evil I think, it just bursts out all around them like an infection. Like a cancer.”

“What’s bringing all this up, Connor?”

“No, it’s nothing. Never mind. Forget about it.”

“I want to know, if something’s bothering you. Keeping things inside, I think that’s what’s tearing you up.”

“Ollie…”

“There’s nothing I know of that you’ve done, to me or anyone else, that’s unforgivable.”

“You don’t know everything.”

“I probably never will. That’s just life. You’re not a bad person, Connor. Please don’t cry. Please. You’re not a bad person.”

“You don’t know everything.”

“I’m here, Connor. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“I know you will.”

_6:30 PM_   
_Wes and Laurel_

Wes: she’s freaking out  
Laurel: i know  
Wes: i’m kinda freaking out  
Laurel: i know  
Wes: what do we do?  
Laurel: don’t freak  
Laurel: i’ll reach out to frank  
Laurel: can you keep an eye on her  
Wes: yeah  
Wes: you want me to talk it out with her, or keep her distracted?  
Laurel: distracted. for now  
Wes: okay  
Laurel: thank you  
Laurel: i’ll be there as soon as i can

_6:45 PM_   
_Wes and Asher_

Wes: michaela and i are doing drinks at her place. Study break. Want to join?  
Asher: absolutely. what can i bring?

_7:00 PM_   
_Laurel and Frank_

Laurel: weird question time?  
Frank: okay?  
Laurel: do anesthetics or narcotics frequently make people confess to murder?  
Frank: not typically, no  
Frank: some people babble, but it would all be suspect and circumstantial at best  
Frank: most people aren’t clear-headed enough on those kind of drugs to confess to anything. it’s like a dream state. your brain is just...heavy  
Frank: does that answer your question?  
Laurel: it does  
Laurel: thank you  
Frank: come over?  
Laurel: gonna study for awhile with the group  
Laurel: maybe later

_7:00 PM_

“You need to sleep.”

“I’m fine. I’m not going to leave you.”

“You need to sleep.”

“I’m not going to leave you.”

“I’m scared you’ll get sick. Or hurt your body. You need to work, Ollie.”

“I’m fine. You’re the one who needs to rest.”

_7:05 PM_   
_Keating and Associates_

Frank: the kids are freaking  
Frank: prom queen’s worried walsh is going to spill something  
Bonnie: did you talk to your girl?  
Frank: yes  
Bonnie: and?  
Frank: i have a good feeling. we’ll see tomorrow.  
Frank: we are actually not worried about pretty boy saying anything, right?  
Bonnie: he won’t  
Bonnie: with the drugs they have him on, it would be incoherent and circumstantial at best  
Frank: that’s what i thought  
Bonnie: they’ll figure it out  
Bonnie: they’ll never learn anything if we rush to scoop them up every time they fall  
Bonnie: people will learn to be helpless if you let them  
Frank: i know, i know  
Bonnie: smoke break?  
Frank: catch u in 10  
_seen by Annalise at 7:45 PM_

_8:00 PM_

“Do you think there’s such a thing as true evil?” Connor asks the night nurse.

She smiles as she takes his blood pressure. “Maybe we can’t know what true good is unless true evil exists too. No light without the shadow, you know?”

Connor considers this as she makes notes on his chart. “You’re looking really good,” she tells him. She glances over at Oliver, slumped over in the chair. “I’m going to take him to the family room, get him some food, try to send him home. You gonna be okay?”

She just means, will he be fine with Oliver gone, and he will but, every time someone asks that, it’s like getting kicked in the heart all over again. He blinks, stares up at ceiling. “I’ll let you know in the morning.”

“If you keep up like this, they’ll be sending you home in the morning.”

“Good,” is the only thing he can say.


	7. Refresh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team is reunited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A character has a panic attack in this chapter.

“Are you all going to a funeral? Who died?”

He’s back…

Laurel squeezes Wes’s hand. Michaela says, “We were hoping, maybe, some of your attitude?”

“Sorry to disappoint you. Next time one of you tries to take me out, better make sure it sticks.”

He tilts his head at them. Someone shouldn’t be allowed to look that poised with their face black and blue, and tubes in their nasal canal.

Rolling her eyes, Michaela crosses the room, and gently puts her arms around his shoulders. That’s all it takes to send a ripple across that collected exterior. Laurel mirrors the tilt of his head and says, “That’s how you know it wasn’t us.”

Wes looks at her.

Connor laughs first. Well, he doesn’t really laugh, because he’s holding his body very close right now to keep it from hurting, but he exhales with purpose, and really, honest-to-God smiling, and that’s enough to make them all start.

Michaela takes a step back, and Laurel takes his place, pressing her hand against his shoulder blade. She frowns at something.

“You’re in a lot of pain.”

“Yeah.”

“What do they have you on?”

“The good stuff. I don’t like it.” He pulls back to meet her eyes. “It makes it hard for me to focus. And if I take pills instead of I.V., it makes me nauseous.” He looks down. “It makes me want to sleep.”

She squeezes his hand, backs off to sit in a chair next to Michaela. 

Wes hugs Connor like he’s scared of hurting him, so Connor put his good arm across his shoulders, and pulls him closer. Wes asks, “Where are Gemma and Ollie?”

“Lunch. Thank god. Gemma’s probably gonna bring my mom here, then take her home.”

“Are they releasing you?”

“My final check is at 3 P.M.”

Wes’s hand rests on the back of his neck. He has no idea what to do. He says, “I’m sorry all this is happening to you.”

“Don’t be.” Connor smiles again. “I’m getting extensions on all my midterms. I’m gonna have the sympathy card for three months at least. My boyfriend’s by my side 24/7. This is the best thing that could have happened to me right now.”

He looks like he’s going to cry. Wes squeezes him a little harder, then moves into a chair on the other side of Laurel.  
Asher tiptoes into the room, a giant trying not to step on a tiny village of fairies. He seems maybe like he isn’t sure if he isn’t supposed to be there, which is very strange to see from a young man who is fairly certain that he belongs everywhere.

The four of them can’t help but let that moment linger for a moment, the way one hesitates to breathe too heavily on an intricate spiderweb. Then, Connor says, “Asher?” and the spell is broken. Asher crosses the room, and gives him a firm hug.

Quietly, quiet enough that it’s maybe meant only for Connor, Asher says, “I hope it keeps them up at night. I hope not one of them gets a good night sleep until the day someone figures out what they did.” His voice is deeply serious.

Wes, Laurel, and Michaela know they shouldn’t share as many meaningful looks as they do, but they can’t help it. Sometimes, they just have to know that the other people are hearing what they’re hearing, and they aren’t crazy.

Connor claps Asher on the shoulder. “Wes told me what you said.”

“He did?”

“Mhmm.”

Asher’s face lights up. “I mean every word, man. I mean, probably better to sue than kick their asses but whatever you want or need, once they find those creeps, you just say the word and I’m there.”

“Thank you. Sincerely, thank you.”

Asher takes a chair on the less-croweded side of the room. Laurel is looking up at the lights and says, absently, “I wonder how they’ll try it, since it was a group.” She feels their eyes on her, and drops her head. “Sorry, you probably don’t want to talk about…”

“Actually, I do.” Connor straightens up, then flinches, drawing his arm across his side. “I really, really do.”

And, just like, the last bit of tension dissipates from the room.

Michaela reaches out, and Connor takes her hand. “That’s unusual, right? Usually it’s just one or two?”

“That was what the cop said. Liu.”

“Do you think they bashed you because you’re…” Asher trails off.  
“Because I was out at a gay bar? Maybe.” Connor bites his lip. “They didn’t call me any names.”

Michaela squeezes his hand. Wes asks, “Did they say anything?”

Connor pulls his fingers free, and puts his hands over his eyes. “Sometimes, I think I can remember, but when I try to pull it out, it slips away.”

“That’s okay,” Michaela says. “It’ll be like that for awhile. I slipped and hit my head on the stairs once, and I still can’t really remember the whole day.”

“I don’t think it’s the head trauma for me, I think my brain is just...packing it away.”

He looks up. “Thank you again, for all the notes.” He looks over at Wes and Laurel. “I don’t know what I’d do if…”

Wes can see the exact moment that it happens. Connor’s eyes go glassy, he withdraws, pulls in on himself even more. On the monitor, his heart rate spikes, his breathing goes shallow. His friends lean forward. Wes reaches out, gets his palm on his shoulder blade. “Connor?”

“I’m okay. I’m fine. I just...I just…” He takes a huge, struggling gasp of air, which just hurts him more. He clutches his side.

“Just breathe slow, Connor,” Laurel says. “You can breathe, you just need to breathe slow.”

Without thinking, Wes climbs on the edge of the bed, lets Connor curl up on his chest, puts his arms around him. “She’s right, Connor.”

Asher looks frantic. Connor tries to take a deep breath. “My chest hurts.”

“I know. I know.”

Michaela looks up, and sees a nurse jogging towards them. “Oh, thank god.”

The woman’s name tag says O’Dowd, her thick, curly hair collected in a bun at the base of her neck. She looks around the room, goes to Connor on Asher’s side. “What’s happening?”

Wes tries to ease away, but Connor grabs his shirt and jacket, holds them with more strength than Wes would have thought even if he hadn’t just been beaten. Wes looks up at her, and says, “I think he’s having a panic attack.”

Michaela looks over at Laurel. “Can you text him?”

“Already did.” She looks down at her phone. “Ollie’s coming. Connor, he and Gem just finished lunch.”

“Ollie…”

“Just breathe, Connor.” Wes rubs his back. “That’s all you have to do right now, that’s the only thing, okay?”

O’Dowd picks up the chart, flips through it, taps her pen on her lip, nods. Connor sucks oxygen through his nose, exhales the waste out his mouth. He tries not to have his rib cage move has he does it. He cycles again. Oxygen in, used-up trash out. Sounds about right.

Fast footsteps down the hall. Ollie’s voice, thin, trying to hold steady. “Connor? What happened?”

Wes gets out of the way. Ollie scoops Connor up in his arms. The numbers charting out his life stabilize.

“It all happened so fast.”

“I know,” Ollie whispers.

“It just all rushed over me. I was there, again. I was there…” 

Wes sinks down in the chair between Laurel and Michaela. Michaela has her hands folded over her knee, smoothing down her skirt. Laurel reaches out and takes Wes’s hand. There’s guilt on her face, clear as if she’d just shot somebody.

Ollie presses his forehead against Connor’s temple, hand cupping his face. “They’re not here. I am.”

Connor reaches up, and puts his palm on his cheek. “I’m okay. Really, I’m okay.” He looks up at the nurse. “You’re going to ask if I want to see the psychiatrist.”

She smirks, writes a note. “Do you want to see the psychiatrist?”

He looks up at Ollie. Ollie is looking at him with so much love, he thinks it might just crush his rib cage all over again. “Sure, why not.”.

She takes his vitals, makes some more notes, adjusts his fluids. Then she’s gone.

Silence falls over them. Connor looks around the room, smirks. “Oh, what. You’d have all been disappointed if there wasn’t any excitement.”

“Connor,” Laurel says. “I’m sorry...I didn’t think…”

“No, please. Don’t be sorry. I should thank you.” He squeezes Ollie, then settles back on the pillows. “I remembered something. A lot of things, actually, but something in particular.”

They’re all leaning in. Now, this is the kind of attention he actually likes.

“There were three of them. After they threw me down and took my watch, one of them stepped back, and said something. I think it was…”you can stop now.” Or maybe, “we can stop, now.” I don’t quite remember.”

Asher passes him a box of tissues. He grabs a handful, wipes his eyes. “Thanks.” He looks up at Ollie. “They didn’t stop, though. He got pretty upset, but they didn’t stop, until they got scared someone might hear me.”

Oliver takes his hand. His classmates look at each other across the bed.

“That sounds pretty weird,” Asher says.

“Definitely atypical,” Michaela agrees.

Laurel picks at her lip. “If it’s serial, it’s probably a consistent group. There’s probably some sort of group dynamic at play.”

All they can do is nod.

Asher looks at his watch. “We should get going, if we want to hit the courthouse.”

They each give him a goodbye hug, and file out of the room. Wes is last. He stops, like he has something he really wants to say, opens his mouth, closes it, and then says, “I hope they let you out today.”

“Me too, Waitlist.” Connor closes his eyes. “Me too.”


End file.
